Confession
by Samuraiko
Summary: Although not a Catholic, a troubled Sister Johanna partakes in the sacrament of Confession one evening, seeking answers and absolution when the burden of a secret becomes too painful to bear alone. But even if God forgives her, can she forgive herself?


_Note: Quite a few people were left wondering, at the end of "Oh God, Don't Tell Me", exactly what did (or didn't happen) between a certain priest and a certain nun. If you want to know what REALLY happened, you can always PM me._

_This story is a sort of companion, offshoot, not-entirely-related quirk of the first one. These stories, to be honest, are how I can explore certain aspects of Johanna's relationships with the priests without wrecking the continuity of the UNEXPECTED RESULTS series. In other words, what you read in these tales, unless otherwise stated, does not directly affect, reflect, or otherwise pertain to the UR storyline._

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**Confession**

Johanna twisted her hands nervously as she walked down the side aisle of the church, her eyes glancing quickly from side to side, her steps uncertain. When at last she drew level with a series of dark-paneled doors, she stopped. For a long moment she stood there, her face filled with an almost agonizing indecision, but then she abruptly reached out, opened one of the doors, and stepped inside.

Carefully she pulled the door closed behind her, then she stood in the darkness, letting her eyes adjust. Eventually she made out a small bench, and she sat, her hands in her lap, her eyes on the floor.

A latticed panel at roughly head height slid back, revealing a vague shape on the other side, and Johanna took a deep breath. Then slowly, almost as if in a dream, she lifted her right hand and crossed herself.

"Forgive me, Father," she began, then she stopped. "I've never been to Confession before. Not a Catholic confession, anyway."

She saw the shape on the other side stir slightly. "Have you attended other Confessions before?" The priest's voice was soft, not much louder than a hoarse whisper. She wondered briefly which priest it was, but there were so many here at the Vatican that the odds were highly unlikely. So much the better, as far as she was concerned - the last thing she needed was for her confessor to recognize her.

"Yes, but not for several years."

"Why not?"

"Because... well, it's a long story, Father. I could tell you but we'd be here until next Sunday."

"May I ask then why you are here now?"

Johanna sighed. "Because... because I feel absolutely _awful_ about something. I don't know if I'd call it a sin, or just me feeling guilty about something stupid, but... I have nothing to lose by coming here, now do I?"

"No." The priest on the other side stirred again. "Tell me what is troubling you."

The Sister drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "I'm... I'm married, Father. And I love my husband very much, but..." She stopped again, swallowed hard, and then blurted out in a rush, "... but my husband is dead. And... and there's someone else that I care about. A lot. I mean, we're friends, _good_ friends..." Johanna rested her head on her knees for a few moments, and then said in a muffled voice, "I want him."

"You have lustful thoughts for this other man?"

"Yes. And it's tearing me apart. You see, I _know_ he doesn't want me, he probably doesn't even find me attractive in... in that way, and we work together, and he's got enough problems with women as it is." She sighed again. "But... I don't know, maybe it's because it's been so long for me, but sometimes I just find myself looking at him and thinking... _wondering_..."

"Why not share your feelings with him?"

Johanna's head came up abruptly. "Good God, no. I couldn't tell him _this_, he'd never be able to look me in the face again." She groaned and leaned her head back against the wall of the confessional.

"Do you love him? Not just a physical desire, but a true, spiritual love?"

For a long, long time, Johanna was quiet.

"He's my friend," she said at last. "And as a friend... as someone who is very dear to me, whose happiness means so much to me... yes, I love him."

"Is it possible that you might marry again, and find holy wedded bliss with this man?"

"No." Her voice was so soft that the darkness of the confessional seemed to swallow the word. "He... he can't marry me. Any more than he could... you know... have that kind of relationship with me." Johanna's voice became sad. "Any more than he could love me. It's... it's just not possible."

"I see."

"Father, I don't know what to do," Johanna said desperately. "Sometimes I almost wish I had never met him because of this ache inside me."

"Do you really mean that? Would you truly turn your back on his friendship for you because of this?"

"No," she admitted quietly. "I just... I just wish it didn't hurt so _much_ to keep this to myself." She swallowed again, feeling a faint prickling in her eyes.

"Then speak it here. Set the words free here, so that they might trouble you no more."

Johanna brushed her hand across her eyes. "You mean... as if he were here listening?"

"Yes."

"I guess that makes sense." She paused for a bit, then drew in a shaky breath before letting the words out in one long rush. "I wish I could tell you how I feel. I wish I could tell you that sometimes you mean the world to me, that you're the only _real_ friend I have, that sometimes I want you so much that it hurts, that I think you might be the only person who could take away the hurt of losing my husband. I wish I could tell you all this without reminding you of the ones _you've_ lost, or embarrassing or hurting you. I don't care about embarrassing or hurting _me_, I'm used to it, but I know how much pain and grief you've lived with and I don't want to add any more to it. I wish I could tell you to forget to be a priest and tell myself to forget to be a nun so I could share this with you the way I want... the way that sometimes I think is the only way I know how. And... and I swear to God, I wish I could tell you that if there was anything, _anything_ in this whole world that I'd want to stay here for... it'd be you, Abel."

Then she clasped her hands together, rested her forehead on her hands, and began to sob. For a long time, she stayed that way, weeping quietly in the darkness, while the priest on the other side sat quietly and waited for her to regain her composure.

At last, the tears stopped, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Father, I couldn't help it."

"Do you feel better now?"

She sniffled again. "A little."

"Do you know the Act of Contrition?"

Johanna gave a faint laugh and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Father Vaclav taught it to me but for the life of me, I can't remember it right now." She sobered at that. "I can only ask to be forgiven, even though I'm still not sure what I've done wrong. Other than be selfish."

There was a pause, and then she heard the priest say, "_Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti_. Go now, in love and in peace. Amen."

The Sister crossed herself again and stood, but then stopped. "Thank you, Father."

Opening the door of the confessional, she stepped out, took a deep breath and let it out again, then walked down the aisle and out of the church.

As the echoes of the door closing faded away, a tall figure stepped out from the priest's side of the confessional, his face nearly as white as his hair, and his blue eyes wide.


End file.
